


got it going on

by escherzo



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Columbus Blue Jackets, Crack, Detroit Red Wings, F/M, Other, Sexswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 01:30:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10843686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/escherzo/pseuds/escherzo
Summary: “Z,” Dylan’s voice on the other end says. He sounds frantic. “Z, I need your help.”Zach needs to say something in response, and so he says, eloquently, “Mrgh.”“Z, my captain is a woman.”“Larks, if this is a prank, I’m going to murder you,” Zach says. That is, if his headache doesn’t murder him first.





	got it going on

**Author's Note:**

> Lovingly dedicated to Zach Werenski's not-at-all-subtle fondness for older women (for the unfamiliar he a. claimed he was 27 on Tinder when he was 17 in college--look his name up on google image search and it's in the first two pages of results, b. followed a bunch of local models when the team went on its first Cali roadtrip of the year but those models were all 35+, and c. there was a puck bunny blog that had an anecdote about him trying to hook up with the person in question's mother). God bless. 
> 
> That certain activities are unwise with a broken face has been handwaved for the sake of shenanigans.
> 
> Title from "Stacey's Mom," because why not, honestly.

Zach has just gotten bounced from the playoffs.

Zach has half a face that looks like the Terminator, his team has just gotten bounced from the playoffs in five games, and he is experiencing a hangover for the first time in his life after smugly arguing to all his teammates that he was “immune to hangovers”. It is exactly as bad as his older teammates make it look. 

All of these things are happening to him, and his phone is ringing loudly at six o’clock in the morning, and whoever is calling is about to become a homicide victim.

“Z,” Dylan’s voice on the other end says. He sounds frantic. “Z, I need your help.”

Zach needs to say something in response, and so he says, eloquently, “Mrgh.”

“Z, my captain is a woman.”

“Larks, if this is a prank, I’m going to murder you,” Zach says. That is, if his headache doesn’t murder him first. 

“Henrik Zetterberg is asleep in my guest room and I walked by on the way to get breakfast and he’s—not looking like a he right now.” 

“… What?” Zach is not awake enough for this yet.

“He sleeps shirtless and all of a sudden he _has boobs_ , Z, what the fuck.” Dylan is reaching the point of ‘slightly hysterical.’ “He did not have them when he went to bed.” 

“Ask him if this is a thing that happens to him normally once he wakes up,” Zach says, and rolls back over. “And call me back then. I need more sleep.” 

*

Four hours later Zach gets another call. 

“No, this doesn’t happen to him normally—and what the fuck, is this a thing you _know_ happens?” It’s Dylan again, and just as frantic as the first call.

Well. Fuck, okay, that wasn’t a drunken hallucination or a dream, then. Zach was kind of hoping.

“No? Wishful thinking I guess.”

“Please come up here and help me. Or call your teammates and see if this has happened to any of them. Or both. Z—uh, other Z—says this is a new one to him. He’s not handling it that well.”

Zach faceplants into his pillow, because it makes him feel better for the moment.

“Okay,” he says, finally. “I’ll be on my way soon and call people on the way. But you _owe me_.”

“You owed me,” Dylan says, because he’s an asshole that keeps track of these things. “For like, five different things your freshman year. Don’t make me go into all of them.” 

Ugh. _Fine._

*

Zach borrows Wenny’s car, because Wenny is too hungover to object much, and rings up Nick once he’s hit the highway. 

“Fliggy,” he says. “Sorry to wake you up, but—“

“I’ve been up for three hours, it’s ok. What’s up?”

Oh, right. Nick has a baby. Not so much with the sleeping thing for him. Handy, in this circumstance.

“Okay, this is going to sound really, really weird, but I need your help with something.”

Nick mutters something that Zach doesn’t quite catch that sounds a bit like ‘Jesus Lord in Heaven do I want to know’, but maybe it’s a little less… forceful than that. “Yeah?” he says, louder.

“Dylan called me. Dylan Larkin? On the Red Wings? His, uh. Look, Henrik Zetterberg came over to his house for some captain-y thing and stayed over and woke up with boobs and Dylan’s freaking out and I am hoping you have heard of this happening to people before.”

Zach has such a reputation on the team for being stoic and it’s getting ruined right now. Thanks, Dylan. 

There’s a very, very long pause. 

“Well,” Nick says finally, “there was one time a few months ago when Janelle and Olya went to some wine-tasting event and came back giggling about something about how cute ‘girl Bob’ was. I didn’t think about it much at the time? But you might want to call Bob and ask just in case.” 

“I love you,” Zach blurts, ruining his reputation even further. 

“I’m married,” Nick says, as dignified as could be expected given the circumstances. “Good luck with… all that. I’m going to go back to getting my kids ready to go to the park.” 

“Right,” Zach says. “Uh. Bye.”

*

Once Zach is at the nearest rest stop, he calls Bob. 

“Hey, uh, it’s Zach,” he says, when Bob picks up.

“Yes, I have your number saved, I know.” 

“Uh. Well. Nick said, uh. Did you, uh—“

“Nick said?”

“Nick said I might want to call you because Zetterberg woke up female when he was at Dylan’s house and Dylan is freaking out and Nick said Olya mentioned something about girl Bob and if you have no idea what I’m talking about I’m really sorry, this is really weird,” Zach says, all in a rush, and great, that’s a second teammate who no longer thinks he has any chill whatsoever, _thanks Dylan_. 

There’s a long pause. This is kind of becoming a feature of his morning. 

“Yes,” Bob says carefully. “That did… happen.”

Oh, thank god. 

“It did?”

“It was strange,” Bob says, and, well, no kidding. “But Olya had fun and I was, you know, normal in two days.”

Oh, thank god, times two. 

“Do you have any idea what caused it?”

Bob can’t shrug over the phone, but the noise he makes sounds like the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “Stress? Don’t know. Tell Zetterberg no worries.” 

“I will. _Thank you_ ,” Zach says, fervent. 

“Yes. Goodbye.” 

He hangs up and Zach immediately calls Dylan back. 

“It happened to Bob,” Zach says, without preamble. “Went away in two days. Bob thinks it might be a stress thing.”

Dylan lets out a loud sigh of relief and then, distantly, Zach can hear him yell, “Z, Bobrovsky had it happen to him, it’ll go away soon. It’s temporary.” 

“Thank you,” he says, louder, not holding the phone away from him anymore from the sound of it. “Are you still on your way?”

“Yeah,” Zach says. “I’m at a rest stop on 23, I’ll be there in a couple of hours.”

*

Dylan looks… stressed, to put it politely, by the time Zach makes it to Detroit. Less politely, he looks like hell, hair sticking up every which way like he’s been tugging at it—he does that, when he’s stressed, Zach has seen him during finals week—and the lines of his body are full of tension.

“Hey,” Zach says, stretching to shake the aches out of his limbs. The highways near Detroit have been a mess for ages, but they were a pothole-ridden disaster today, and he’s sore as shit. “How’s he holding up?”

“Better now that you’ve told him it’s not permanent,” Dylan says, shrugging. “It’s still not my favorite way to start the morning.”

“If it was, I’d be really worried,” Zach says, and follows Dylan inside.

Zetterberg is—oh _god_. Zach is staring. He knows he’s staring, and he’s not going to be capable of being subtle about it, and all of a sudden Dylan looks like he ate about fifteen lemons.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters.

Zetterberg, who is currently occupying the body of a gorgeous mid-thirties woman in a t-shirt, sans bra, and sweatpants, raises both eyebrows. 

“Hang on,” Dylan says, and shoulders Zach into the nearest room with a door. 

“What?” Zach asks, trying to play innocent.

“You fucking know what, Z, Jesus Christ. Can you keep it in your pants for five seconds.”

“I _am!_ ” 

“God, why did I not realize this was going to be a problem,” Dylan mutters, apparently to himself, and fine, _fine_ , so Dylan is not a stranger to Zach having a Thing for older women. It is basically his only consistent sexual preference other than “up for it.” 

“I am going to be fine,” Zach says, with as much dignity as he can manage, as though he was not totally ogling Zetterberg about thirty seconds previous. 

“You already had a crush on him when we were kids and now he’s got tits, you are not going to be fine.”

“… I’ll do my best?” 

“Uh huh.” Dylan gives him a highly skeptical look. “Keep a pillow handy in case you need to stick it over your lap, you perv.”

Wow, okay, rude. Dylan opens the door again and steps back out, and Zetterberg is still there, sitting on Dylan’s couch, being excessively beautiful, and—ok, Dylan might have a point about the pillow thing.

“You said Bobrovsky went through this before?” Zetterberg asks, and Zach gathers his dignity and nods. 

“Said it went away in two days and his wife had fun with it in the meantime. It’s a stress thing, he thinks.”

Zetterberg sighs and closes his eyes, settling back into the couch cushions. “Well thank God for that. Stress I can handle.”

Apparently he can’t, Zach thinks and pointedly does not say, given that the stress response of ‘misplaced a dick, grew boobs’ has happened. Well. He doesn’t actually know that Zetterberg is sans-dick, he just kind of looks like it from the rest of him. Is it rude to assume? It’s probably rude to assume. 

“Do either of you want some coffee?” Dylan asks, and his voice only cracks a little. He’s handling this much better than Zach would if it was his house and his captain. 

“I’ll take some,” Zach says, settling in on the couch opposite Zetterberg, who grunts out something that can be approximated as a yes as well. 

Maybe only handling it moderately well, because when Dylan comes back with two cups of coffee—with milk and sugar in Zach’s, thank god he remembers that, he asks, “Did Bobrovsky say what he meant about his wife having fun with it?”

Zach raises both eyebrows high enough that his forehead starts to hurt a little. “Uh, no. I don’t know if she meant fun or like, _fun_ , that’s not the kind of thing Bob and I talk about.”

Zetterberg, rather than chiming in, drains half the cup of coffee in one gulp. He really does look profoundly uncomfortable with this whole thing, which, Zach can’t really blame him there.

“It was two days for him,” he says, trying to be reassuring. “You’re already part-way through one day.”

“Telling myself it’s temporary only goes so far,” Zetterberg says. “My brain hasn’t figured out that it’s still technically my body.”

“I mean, only sort of.” Dylan settles in on the other end of the couch Zetterberg is currently occupying. “It’s a new version of yours but also not really yours.”

Because he’s an asshole who has Zach’s number, he adds, “You could try and test drive it, while you’ve got it.”

Zetterberg chokes on the next sip of coffee he’s halfway through and ends up bent over, coughing up a storm, and Dylan reaches out, draws back, reaches out, draws back again, looking guilty as hell and not sure if he should like, smack Zetterberg on the back or what. 

“Emma is straight,” Zetterberg manages, once he’s gotten his wind back. “I don’t think she’d have _fun_ fun with me like this. And her exceptions for me only extend to guys, not other women. I’m not about to go try and pick them up like this.”

Dylan, again, an asshole, waggles his eyebrows at Zach. It’s not the most subtle thing in the world. Zetterberg notices. 

“He volunteers,” Dylan says, dry. 

“If it’s too weird that’s fine,” Zach says, face-cherry red. “But if it’s not I, um. I’d really like, um.” He’s so much smoother than this usually. Today is really doing a number on this whole ‘stone-faced, mature rookie’ persona he’s got going. God. 

“He had a poster of you on his wall,” Dylan chimes in, which, for the third time, _asshole_. “And he has a thing for people older than him.”

Zetterberg coughs again and, after a long moment, shrugs and tugs his sweats down. “Alright,” he says. “Why not.”

Zach doesn’t need much more prompting than that. He settles onto his knees on the floor in front of Zetterberg, hands cupping his thighs, and says, before he dives in (just in case), “If it’s too weird for you just tell me and I’ll stop.”

He’s done this before, and with women who gave him instruction, so he’d like to think he knows what he’s doing, and if nothing else, when he leans in and sucks Zetterberg—Henrik? Mouth on his not-a-dick-at-the-moment clit seems like it should be the point at which a first name basis happens—into his mouth, the high-pitched, startled noise Henrik makes is probably a good sign. He reaches down and holds onto the short strands of Zach’s hair as best he can, pushing him forward, and Zach flicks his tongue back and forth, losing himself in the taste, while Henrik’s thighs tighten under his hands. 

“Too much,” Henrik gasps out, and Zach pulls back to nod before sucking Henrik’s clit into his mouth. He’s not the first Zach has been with that’s been too sensitive on the underside like that. 

Zach hums with his lips wrapped around Henrik’s clit and nudges a finger into him experimentally, crooking it partway in, and Henrik shudders and comes, just like that. He’s ready to keep going, see how many times he can get Henrik off, when Henrik pulls him back.

“I’m good,” he says, out of breath, face flushed. “It’s—good, but weird, once was enough.”

“Alright,” Zach says, settling back on his heels and licking the lingering taste of Henrik off his lips. Dylan is still on the other side of the couch, and he’s not exactly subtle about having his hand down his pants right now, and Zach raises an eyebrow at him. He is already on his knees, and it’s not like they haven’t experimented with each other before. 

“I’m good too,” he says, grinning, and he closes his eyes and full-body shudders, over the edge just like that. 

Is it weird for his captain to see him come? Zach is going to be polite and not ask, but Henrik is definitely watching, same as Zach, and he shifts in place minutely as it happens. Zach is relatively sure he wouldn’t be up for getting off in front of Nick, although he hasn’t put much thought into it. 

“Worth a test drive?” Zach asks, after a long moment, looking up at Henrik shyly. 

“I think so,” Henrik says. “But I’ll be glad to have my own body back. This one is throwing me off.”

“One more day,” Zach reminds him.

Maybe he’ll stick around until it happens, just in case Henrik wants to give things another try before he changes back. 

Worth a shot, anyway.


End file.
